thirst aid
by guzma
Summary: (mtmte) first aid writes a letter to someone he admires, everything goes wrong, possible romance ensues, etc.
1. Chapter 1

First Aid sat at the desk in his hab suite. He had written this letter at least ten times already, but every time he finished, it just didn't seem right. He crashed his head into his hands and thought about if for a second- was it the words he was saying? Or the sentiment? Maybe he should try and write something completely different.

"Dear Whirl," Was that to much? Were they really on 'dear' status with each other? First Aid erased it. "Whirl,"

That sounded so much better. "I know you don't want to be on this ship. I'm sorry you're stuck here with us." Too personal? "I like you a lot. You seem like you don't have anyone to talk to sometimes." …But it's not like he didn't have anyone to talk _at_. "If you need someone I'm always here for you. Except when I'm in the med bay, then don't bother me." It seemed like a blunt ending, but he had to stop there. He knew if he wrote anymore he'd totally embarrass himself.

It was hard to tell from the hallway, but Swerve's was unusually overpopulated that night. First Aid burst through the door expecting to see the same bots who were always there, crowding around the bar telling each other stories they'd all heard before with the path between them and the entrance totally barren, but he was surprised when he couldn't even _see_ the bar because of how many people were there. It was darker than usual (if you didn't count the blinding strobe lights). He pushed his way through the sea of bodies, determined to deliver his letter. Sure enough there was the bot he had came here to see, Whirl, perched on a barstool, surrounded by a massive collection of empty glasses. The ex-wrecker was at least twice as tall as First Aid, always armed, and didn't care about anything enough to control his temper. There was hardly anyone aboard the Lost Light more intimidating than him, but for some reason, First Aid didn't feel _too_ scared of him. Maybe it was because he'd read so many articles about him in Wreckers: Declassified, maybe it was because he'd seen him passed out in an emergency room so many times, maybe it was something else entirely, but somehow First Aid felt like he had seen a side to Whirl almost no one else knew existed.

"Hey, Whirl," First Aid tapped him on the back.

He whipped around his upper body so quickly and carelessly that he almost knocked First Aid out with his cockpit. His optic felt like it was burning it's image onto First Aid's face. After a few awkward seconds of silence, First Aid realized he'd have to speak up first.

"This is for you," He fumbled to produce the note from behind him and held it out with both hands. Whirl pinched it away from him. Maybe he should've stayed to see Whirl's reaction, but he had forgotten how nerve-wracking and heavy it felt to actually be in his presence and bolted to the entrance as fast as he could. He figured that the music and lights were too disorienting for anyone to notice him escape.

First Aid had made it back to the hallway, his optics adjusting themselves to the sudden brightness as he made his way back to his hab suite. He almost had a chance at actually making it back there… almost. As he was about to turn a corner at the end of the hall, he heard heavy footsteps behind him.

"Hey, nurse!" He didn't have to look to know who that was. No one's voice was as obnoxious (except for Swerve, but that was a whole different breed of obnoxious). "Why did you write this for me, huh?!"

First Aid was hesitant to turn around, but did despite himself. "What do you mean?"

"I mean like, why didn't you just _say_ it to me?"

He couldn't just say 'because you terrify me'. He looked away from Whirl for a second as he tried to collect himself. All he could hear in that moment was his fuel pumping itself furiously through him, and the constant pounding sound from the bar bleeding through cracks in the walls..,

"The music in there is way to loud, there's no way you could've heard me."

Whirl narrowed his optic at him.

"You're nice, kid," He grabbed First Aid by the wrist. "It just so happens that I'm real sad and lonely and in need of someone to talk to right now." He sarcastically wiped a nonexistent tear from his eye (too many Earth movies). Physical strength was never First Aid's forte, so he just succumbed to Whirl's will and let him drag him back to the bar.

"So, what kind of drinks do you like?" Whirl inquired as he hopped back onto his perch, crossing his legs and motioning to the bartender.

"Oh, I-"

"I've been drinking straight up refined energon this whole time." he interrupted. "It's so basic. I've been going too easy on myself! I'm gonna drink a gallon of Nightmare Fuel- I think I'll have it boiling," he made eye contact with Swerve.

"Oh, uh, yeah, me too." First Aid tripped over his words, "Not a gallon though. Just a little bit."

"'A little bit'? You don't sound like you know what you're talking about. What do you mean, like a shot, or a glass, or a pitcher or…?" Whirl might have been more sizeable than a most of his crewmates, but the fact that he though of a pitcher as 'a little bit' was terrifying.

"I know what I'm talking about! I mean a glass," he nervously glanced at Whirl's impenetrable fortress of dirty dishes. "I mean, two glasses."

Thirty seconds passed before Swerve slammed their orders onto the counter. He prided himself on speed (after all, if he wanted to work side by side with Blurr…) but often forgot the importance of, you know, everything else.

Not comfortable enough with himself to stop and admire the bluish glow emanating from the bottom of the pink drink, First Aid took a sip and tried to peek at Whirl from the corner of his visor.

Everything went white.

Thanks for reading ^u^ the next chapter will be done soonish (hopefully..)


	2. Chapter 2

First Aid's optics flickered back on. The disorientation he felt quickly sunk in and he observed his surroundings. His vision was fuzzy, the flavescent walls, grey ceiling, and subtle but constant whirring of life support machines could only mean he was in the medibay. He groped around for the nurse call button and slammed it vigorously when he found it.

Ambulon showed up to his berth side in a huff. "First Aid, you of all people know that button is only for emergencies!"

"Well, if it _was_ an emergency I'd be dead by now! You need to work on your response time." First Aid sassed his superior. "It's obvious I'm not dying. But what's going on? I can't remember anything. I don't even know what time it is…"

"Whirl brought you here, he told me you were trying too hard to impress him. I had to pump your stomach. You should really be more careful."

"That doesn't sound like the whole story!"

"Hey, it's not like I would know. I've been in here _working_ this whole time." Ambulon handed him a data pad displaying the receipt for his surgery. "You should really get an internal clock. If you keep missing your shifts like this, Ratchet will eat you."

"I'll think about it. I feel really weird right now. Can you call Swerve? I want him to tell me what happened."

"Okay, so you want like, the entire run down, right? Basically what happened is, it was this big party I was throwing, just because, you know? I mean, it's not like we have anything better to do, anyways. I mean, we're just drifting through space! It sounds cool, and it _is_ cool, but it's _so boring_. And Whirl had been there since before it even started because he was bored out of his mind. Now, I was only expecting like, 40 people to show up. But _everyone_ was there! Almost everyone! Rodimus was there and he said it was fire!"

"Swerve…" Ambulon grumbled.

"Alright, alright, sorry! I'll skip to when you walked in." He pointed his finger guns at First Aid. "When you walked in, this one song came on and everyone lost it. I'm surprised you didn't get crushed squeezing your way to the counter. Anyways, I think you two talked for a little bit before you ordered. Whirl wanted a gallon of Nightmare Fuel, and you wanted two glasses. I remember that, because I got it wrong! I was so zoned out listening to that song that I accidentally gave you both weapons grade nucleon. I don't know why we even _have_ that stuff! Anyways, Whirl was fine. I have this sneaking suspicion that he hoards that stuff into his room, so he must be used to it. But you, you poor thing! You're such a lightweight to begin with, you blacked out, like, immediately and I made Whirl drag you here. I'm surprised it didn't kill you!" Swerve laughed. Everyone else was quiet. "Oh, and uh, I'm glad you're okay!"

Ambulon cleared his throat. "Thank you Swerve."

"Okay, if that's all you need I'll just be seeing myself off then…" Swerve mumbled as he left the medibay.

"You should rest a little bit more before you get back to work," Ambulon said, getting back to work himself. "We haven't had a lot of patients recently, but there's still lots to do."

Beneath his visor, First Aid closed his optics. He wondered if Whirl would have helped him if Swerve didn't tell him to.

Ratchet dumped a collection of tools onto a workbench while First Aid ran around the medibay chasing down all the diagnostic drones. He secured one of them to the table and watched as Ratchet performed maintenance on it, explaining everything he was doing in detail to his apprentice. They might have been drones, but the complexity of their anatomy was virtually parallel to spark bearing Cybertronians.

"Are you listening?" Ratchet asked. First Aid shook himself awake.

"Yeah,"

"It doesn't seem like it. You're still dizzy from getting your stomach pumped." Ratchet shook his head. "You shouldn't be trying to impress Whirl of all people, you know. He's bad news to begin with. I can't imagine he'd be good for you."

First Aid knew Ratchet was a lot older and a million times wiser than he could ever be. He knew following Ratchet's advice is almost always the best path. But First Aid was an insolent child. "I wasn't trying to impress him. And even if I was, that's not why I got in trouble! You heard Swerve's story, it was his fault."

Ratchet laughed. "I know drinking with a Wrecker might seem dreamy to you, but I've never heard a story like that that didn't end with someone even more brain dead than they were before." He reinserted the last screw on the drone and let it free. "Ultimately, it's your choice whether you want to associate with him or not, but every time you think about doing something with him I want you to picture me in the back of your mind, looking more disappointed than I usually am."

First Aid laid himself onto his berth, twiddling his thumbs and staring at the ceiling, waiting to fall unconscious and slip into recharge. He turned everything he had taken in of a diagnostic drone's anatomy in his mind in hopes it would help him memorize their parts. He had always thought their minimal faces were adorable. Their only feature was a big, fancy, (and, according to Ratchet, expensive) optic. It was lit with cheap blue lights, the same kind embedded in the bottom of the cups at Swerve's. He figured the manufacturer chose blue to mimic the optics of most Cybertronians, whose eyes were blue for a different reason. There was only one direct link between one's eyes and their torso. Connecting the optics to the spark case was a cable, the inside lined with mirrors, reflecting the light of the owner's own spark behind their eyes. He wondered why 0.1%'s eyes weren't green. He would have wondered why some people's eyes were red or yellow, but he already knew that answer. Some people preferred odd colors to the standard blue and had a thin layer of colored film set snugly between their optics and their faceplate. He wondered why Whirl chose yellow.


End file.
